


Inertia.

by S_Faith



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-21
Updated: 2006-08-21
Packaged: 2019-03-11 10:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: My first foray into "The Office" (US) fic. Please be gentle.Mille grazie to kyrafic for beta-ing. Post-"Casino Night", so, obviously, spoilers for that ep. Pre-"Gay Witch Hunt", too.





	Inertia.

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into "The Office" (US) fic. Please be gentle.
> 
> Mille grazie to kyrafic for beta-ing. Post-"Casino Night", so, obviously, spoilers for that ep. Pre-"Gay Witch Hunt", too.

Pam thinks, and not for the first time, how thankful she is that the cameras are not allowed in the ladies room as a rule. Neither her desk nor her home at this stage can be considered anything close to a sanctuary, so Pam makes do with the harsh fluorescent downlighting of the first floor bathroom. Cold water will take the red out, she thinks, so she runs the C tap full blast, cups her hands beneath, and splashes her face. She pats her face dry, dabs under her eyes with coarse paper towels from the dispenser, and hopes no one will notice that her eye shadow and mascara, barely noticeable under normal circumstances, is now completely gone.

She stares for a moment at her red eyes, not helped at all by the cold water. In a horrible moment she hears the door hinge squeaking. She realizes someone's coming in, and it's a very surprised looking Meredith, a tall, thin, brown paper bag in her hand.

"Pam, everything okay?"

Pam forces a toothy smile, one she's become expert at fixing on her features in a moment's notice. "Yeah, just got something in my eye. Hurt like nobody's business."

Pam can tell that Meredith isn't buying it, judging from the way she's subconsciously cocking her eyebrow in disbelief. But Meredith is too afraid of Pam revealing her own secret to push it, pulls her mouth into a tight smile, nods. "See you upstairs."

Pam agrees, perhaps a little too eagerly. "Be up in a few."

Meredith leaves, and Pam's entire posture slumps as she sheds the happy veneer with a heavy sigh. In a few minutes she'll go back upstairs, be the perky face and bright, welcoming voice of Dunder Mifflin Scranton, all the while her insides churning up an acid bath.

She's mindful of two things:

She's married.

Jim's still gone.

She thinks again about inertia and about that night.

…

Bodies in motion stay in motion. And bodies at rest stay at rest.

Pam has grown tired of being at rest.

…

Jim's confession practically knocked her over. Even though it was later than she liked to call, she'd wasted no time at all getting back up to the office to confide to her mother what he'd said. Pam began to consider her own feelings for Jim – and she certainly had stronger feelings than she liked to admit to herself – when the man himself had appeared out of nowhere and kissed her, catching her unawares. Instinctively she responded in kind. She couldn't help it. The flutter in her stomach was something she hadn't felt in so long it was almost alien; a small part inside of her observed it almost clinically. But thoughts of Roy popped into her head – comfortable, well-meaning Roy and the life she'd built with him, a life that was all she really knew or remembered. Rational thought took control. She broke away from Jim, muttering apologies as she abandoned the scene: Jim, the office, the building.

She almost plowed Ryan down in the parking lot. He asked her if she needed a ride home, and she agreed without hesitation. 

…

Pam shakes her head, brings herself back to the present, realizes she's five minutes late returning from lunch, and hurries back to her desk. Michael teases her about sneaking off for some 'afternoon delight' in the warehouse, and she rolls her eyes, which the cameras catch. She swears she hears the sound guy snicker.

Her eyes fix momentarily on Jim's empty desk. He's probably still on his trip, but she isn't sure because she never thought to ask his itinerary, and he never offered it to her. She hasn't heard from him, not once, now, almost two weeks after the wedding, one week after coming back from the honeymoon.

She doesn't blame him, really.

Pam settles behind her desk, but it's a slow day, and there are very few calls. Michael is busy on a conference call for the majority of the afternoon, and he has Dwight with him. Pam thanks heaven for small mercies. Solitaire has lost its luster. The IT guy's been working on fixing the internet connection all day, so the connection is too sporadic to think about sneaking onto MySpace. She glances up again at the empty desk before her, feeling hollow inside.

…

The duration of the ride with Ryan was short. If he sensed something was wrong, he wisely didn't ask. She managed to convince herself by the time she got home that her reaction to Jim's confession then his kiss – her ardent response, the resulting overwhelming emotions, and doubts about marrying Roy – was nothing but pre-wedding jitters, and slipped into bed beside a snoring Roy as if Jim's mouth hadn't been pressed to hers only thirty minutes prior. She laid awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling and planning exactly what she'd say to Jim, hoped desperately they could still be friends, but he didn't show up for work the next day. Or the day after. She tried calling his cellphone a few times but only got voice mail; she took the hint. On the third day with no Jim, Toby let it slip over his sandwich in the break room that Jim had phoned in with an out of town family emergency and took a leave of absence to take care of things before he left for his vacation. Pam feigned prior knowledge, but was inwardly shattered.

And then the wedding was upon her before she knew it.

…

Pam barely remembers the wedding, truth be told. Watching the video is like a John-Malkovich-ian tunnel into someone else's memories, like a Pam Puppet is going through the motions as the real deal watches in horror.

…

She had convinced herself that staying the course, marrying Roy, would return stability to her life, to her thoughts, but now she knows better. She is not now any happier than she ever was, only more conflicted, suffocated, stifled, trapped.

It's only now that she can look back at her friendship with Jim and see it for what it really was, with the clarity only hindsight can afford. She hopes it is not too late. 

She feels like she hardly gave it a chance, as the two of them had barely returned from their week in the Poconos, but when she thinks about it, she's been waiting for things to change for a long, long time. She just never knew it until now.

…

Pam can't imagine ever forgetting the look on Jim's face as she backed away from him like a frightened animal, nor can she imagine ever forgiving herself for being the cause of it. And she hates herself for feeling more guilty about that than about announcing to Roy over dinner last night that she didn't think she loved him anymore and wanted to end the nascent marriage, probably the hardest, most terrifying thing she's ever had to do.

But also the most freeing.

…

For his part, Roy took the news surprisingly well. He hung his head, and the grasp on his beer can went slack so that he spilled beer onto the carpet, but then he nodded. He admitted to her that he suspected things had not been right for them for some time. Inwardly Pam was surprised. She really hadn't thought he noticed much of anything.

He asked if there was someone else. She could only shrug in reply. It would have been too cruel to say that she hoped there was.

…

Pam fights back another bout of tears. Thinking about last night was what drove her to the ladies' room in the first place. She suddenly wishes that uninterrupted internet access would return. An urgent need to research annulments overtakes her. She has a disconnected remembrance that it's a Catholic thing, and she panics because she's not Catholic. Pam has to be sure. She shoots an irritated look to the IT guy.

Honestly, what could be taking so long?

…

Five o'clock can't come soon enough, for it's Friday and Roy's not coming to pick her up. Pam has the truck tonight, so he's the one that gets a ride back to the place they're still sharing. She told him he can take the bed tonight. He had the couch last night.

The internet never did come back in any reliable fashion, and she blows frustrated air through her teeth as she slips her purse onto her shoulder. No one here yet knows that she and Roy are splitting up, but the news can't be a secret for long.

All of the wedding presents are still in their boxes, for which she's thankful. It will make returning them easier.

She's driving what feels almost like aimlessly, until the houses become familiar, and finally she recognizes Jim's car sitting in the driveway of a house there. She doesn't kid herself: this is the second hardest thing she's ever done, but definitely the most terrifying. She parks in front, and sits there with balled hands so long the sky starts to go dusky.

Now or never, she thinks, then knocks. There is no immediate answer.

Pam feels like she might black out when the door opens, but it's not Jim, it's his roommate Mark, who is wiping sleep from his eyes like he just woke up, but he's smiling with recognition. He must remember her from the barbecue.

"Hey," he says, resting his weight on one foot.

Pam has to concentrate to get the quaver out of her voice, but she doesn't seem to notice she's wringing her hands nervously. It's easier to do that without thinking when there are no rings on her finger. "Hey." She's looking beyond him into the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. "Is Jim home?"

He looks perplexed, as if he's thinking it's weird that Jim's best friend from work wouldn't know he was still away. "Uh, no… he's not back yet."

She lies, "I thought he told me he'd be back today."

"Tonight," he corrects. "I was just getting up to go to the airport."

"Oh." She turns her eyes back to his, suddenly inspired. "Hey, don't you work weird hours? I'll go if you want." She's never been happier that tomorrow is Saturday.

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, yeah, absolutely." Maybe she's a little too quick, too perky with her answer, but she is beyond caring.

"Aw, man, that'd be great. Let me get you the flight info." He invites her in, and standing there, she feels about five years old. He walks into the kitchen and she follows; he pulls a scrap of paper out from under its magnet on the fridge. 

He turns back to her, and there's a peculiarity to his expression she can't quite place. "Here you are. Wow. Thanks a bunch. I have to work at, like, three in the morning, which would've totally sucked for me."

Pam only smiles. She's not doing it for Mark, but if he wants to think she is, she doesn't mind.

Mark walks her to the door, then turns back after opening it for her with a weird grin on his face. "He'll be real happy to see you. Real happy." And suddenly she realizes that he must know everything. Her face blazes red.

…

It would have been nice to meet him at the gate, but that's not possible in a post-9/11 world, so she contents herself with sitting just outside security/customs, between the arrival gates and baggage claim. There are what seems to her to be an unusual number of people arriving for so late in the evening, but then thinks maybe it's normal for international flights to come in at strange hours. She's feeling an odd mixture of sleepy and adrenaline-hyper, because every time she sees a tall, lanky man or shortish messy brown hair, her stomach flips.

And then she sees Jim. He looks awful – haggard face, dark circles under his eyes, unkempt hair – and she wonders if he enjoyed a moment of his vacation. He must have, right? He hasn't seen her yet, and Pam is suddenly horrified to think that he might not be happy to.

She stopped to buy a piece of poster board and a fat-tipped permanent marker to make a sign, HALPERT in huge black letters. Now she stands, holding it up with shaking hands in front of her long enough to ensure he spots it. Then she lowers it sufficiently to allow her eyes to peek over the edge of it.

He saw it. And then he sees her. His eyes widen in surprise for a moment, then he stops walking, blinks, like he thinks he must be hallucinating. She lowers the sign completely, too scared to smile.

" _Pam?_ " His voice is barely audible.

"Jim," she replies. All of the perfectly crafted speeches she'd gone over a million times in her head instantly and inconveniently disappear from memory, so she stands there stupidly, silently.

But then he notices where she's clasping the edge of the sign and she is relieved of the burden of speaking, because it tells him all he needs to know. His eyes connect with her left hand, her bare left hand, then in disbelief back to meet her eyes.

Pam mouths the words, "I'm sorry." She hopes he knows what she means.

He does. Jim drops his messenger bag, and she feels that she can't breathe, because in the blink of an eye he's got his arms around her, holding her tightly, his cheek pressed against her temple. Then he pulls back to look at her. "Oh my _God_ ," he says breathlessly, his eyes glossing with tears.

Pam likes that he's not afraid to cry, not afraid to let her see him cry.

"Kiss me, you loser," she says tremulously, but she's smiling. It feels good to smile. Jim doesn't have to be told twice, and he kisses her fiercely, almost like he might not have another chance. That fluttering deep in her gut returns, and this time it's not so alien at all. People are walking from the gates to baggage claim, streaming around them like they're rocks in a creek, and she laughs at the absurdity of the scene they've created, breaking the kiss. Luckily, he's smiling and laughing too. She reaches up and smooths down his crazy hair. She tilts her head. "You look like crap."

"Yeah, well, you spend something like twenty hours flying and we'll see how you look." He was still grinning. "Come on. Let's get my suitcase." Hesitantly, he reaches for her hand, then takes it.

Shyly, Pam nods, feeling her face crimson again.

"Sorry, Beesly. I didn't get you a souvenir," he continues as they walk, perfectly straightfaced. "Although there were some very nice ceramic kangaroos dressed like Crocodile Dundee at the airport gift shop."

"Eh. I didn't get you one either. Though the miniature Poconos collector spoon was awfully tempting."

She glances over to him and sees he's lowered his head. He tries to slip his hand out of hers, but she won't allow him to, tightening her fingers. "You… went through with it," he states flatly.

Softly she says, "Yeah."

"Wow." Jim-speak for: _but you're here anyway_.

"Yeah."

They get to the carousel after some moments in silence and while Jim seems determined to will his bag to be first off the plane though the power of concentration, she says, "So, how's your family?" He turns and looks at her like she's sprouted a second head, so she elaborates: "The leave of absence…?" She's got on her serious-but-not-serious face, and he knows the gig is up.

"Um. I spent a lot of time in the city making arrangements."

"For…?"

He gulps. She swears she can hear it. "The transfer."

"Oh." She folds her hands together just behind the small of her back, like an army sergeant. "You're gonna do it, then?"

He doesn't reply right away, and when he does, he doesn't meet her eyes. "I thought there was nothing for me here." 

She nods. She's been thinking about the possibility that he was going to go for the transfer, so she's not surprised. Dwight had been egging him on relentlessly, and she is sure that Dwight has driven people to more horrible things than transferring to another branch. But now that Pam is no longer at rest, she wants to go the distance. She knows just what to say.

"No, no. That's fine." She swallows the nervous lump in her throat as she continues. "You're absolutely right. There isn't anything for us here anymore. And there's crap for art schools in Scranton."

She's tempted to feel for a third head, the way he looks at her. But he quickly parses what she said and she's never seen him smile so broadly.

Pam glances down to the conveyor belt, sees his name cruising by on a suitcase luggage tag. "Um." She points, and his attention is drawn from her. He laughs sheepishly, lurches forward to grab it, then pulls it off the carousel.

They stand there for a moment until he says, "Well. Now what?"

"Let me take you home. I might've mentioned you look like crap."

As they walk towards where the truck's parked, she slips an arm around his waist. She tells herself it's to help steady his weary step, but when he wraps his own free arm around her shoulders, she truly realizes, and is almost amazed, that she's really done this. She smiles.

…

When they get back to Jim's house, it's nearly two in the morning. Jim drops the bags by the door. "God, I feel like death warmed over," he mutters, pinching the corners of his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. He had fallen asleep in the truck and Pam did not have the heart to wake him until she pulled up in front of his house.

Pam grins, feeling pretty exhausted herself. It had been quite a monumental day. Mindful of the day he's had himself, she says, "You should probably go take a shower and get to sleep. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

He looks up at her. She had forgotten how intense his eyes could be. He moves pretty quickly for a guy who feels like death warmed over, and she's in his arms again. "Stay with me, Beesly," he murmurs into her hair, forgetting or ignoring that she's married. "I don't want to wake up tomorrow and think this might have all been a dream."

"Okay," she says quietly, suddenly wondering how Roy will react when she doesn't come home. Maybe it'll make the annulment easier to get.

She follows him upstairs, and he pulls out a pair of his pajamas for her. "Here." He smiles unsurely. "I'm gonna take that shower. Go ahead and get comfortable."

"Yeah. Um. Do you mind if I wash my face first?"

"No, go right ahead."

It's kind of weird to be in Jim's bathroom, she thinks as she lathers up the Ivory. She's thinking about the fact that technically she's still a married woman, not that she feels like one so much, but she knows Jim will be thinking about it too. She slips into what feels like standard issue boy pajamas, light blue top and bottoms, with dark blue piping on the edges. They're far too large for her and don't appear to ever have been worn. She then puts some toothpaste on her finger, and brushes her teeth as best she can.

When she gets back to his room, she finds he has practically fallen comatose across the bedspread. She smiles, manages to get the sheets out from under him, slips in beside him, and curls up next to him, realizing that this was all he had in mind when he asked her to stay.

…

Pam opens her eyes and for a disconcerting moment has no idea where she is, but then recalls as last night's events replay in her mind. The sun's filtering in from a high angle, telling her it's late morning. She's alone in the bed, and she sits up.

The door opens, and it's Jim, wet hair wild around his face, dressed in a tee shirt and jeans. "Hey," he says, looking at her with an almost wistful expression. He looks much improved, and it's more than just the shower and sleep that's done it.

"Hey," she smiles.

"You hungry?"

"Yeah."

"If you wanna get dressed, we can go get brunch at the pancake house." He sits beside her. "Thanks for, you know, last night." He regards her intently for a moment, then says, "Wait. That sounded all wrong."

"I know what you meant."

She sits there smiling and looking at him until she realizes her smile has faded and so has his. He's moving to her slowly, like he's going to kiss her again, and she closes her eyes to wait for that moment, that electric moment when they meet. When it happens she sighs. She feels his hands on the small of her back under the pajama top, urging her closer. Again it's desperate, like it's the last time he'll get to kiss her.

He'll learn.

…

Afterwards, she's resting against his chest. For his part he looks almost stunned. She sees his expression, and she laughs. 

He turns his eyes to her. "You laughing at me was not how I expected that to conclude."

She rolls her eyes heavenward and smiles, allowing a little giggle as she looks at him again.

"So," he says, more seriously, "this is okay?" He pats her hair down, then settles a hand on her bare shoulder.

"A little late to ask, don't you think?"

…

When they head downstairs intent on brunch at the pancake house, she sees that Mark has left a message on the fridge: "TWO THUMBS UP, HALPERT" He turns beet red, takes it down, balls it and throws it into the trash, but she smiles.

…

As soon as Pam broke free from the inertia holding her back, she knew that she'd made the right choice. There are difficult things to handle ahead – Roy, the annulment, and extricating herself from that life; finding employment in the city; getting accepted into and affording art school with no idea where to go and worst of all, no portfolio – but something tells her it won't be insurmountable. That's the thing with Jim, Pam has decided. Jim is blessedly free from the constraints of inertia, and it's freed her too. She's not afraid anymore.

 _The End._


End file.
